Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (34 page)

After a prayer for the group to make wise decisions, Reverend Thomas beckoned Rand to the front. “What's on the docket today?”

Rand had overcome his nervousness at leading older men several months ago. They all had come to respect him, and of course they all respected the Northam name. Today, however, the specter of Dathan Hardison and his dead cousin hung over him as he dug notes out of his shirt pocket. Only willpower helped him get through the bits of business.

In the end, the men decided that enough children now attended the church to warrant the establishment of a formal Sunday school, so once the addition was built, they would have to line up some teachers with Bible knowledge. The ladies' fund-raiser was a priority for their support, so Rand urged the men to let their wives participate. Finally, citing the scripture about caring for aged widows, Rand encouraged the board to offer Mrs. Foster some payment for her faithful organ playing, her being a widow lady with no family nearby to take care of her and only piano lessons and her husband's pension from the war to live on. All measures were passed unanimously.

“Well, if there's nothing else, we can dismiss the preacher to his fried chicken.” Rand made a final note on his scrap of paper about Mrs. Foster and stuck it back in his pocket.

“Actually, I do have something else.” Nolan Means stood in the second pew and leveled a benign look at Rand. “If I may?”

Rand gave him a short nod. “Sure. You want to come up here?” Dad had warned him that bankers often liked to take over the leadership of a town simply because they had money. Despite their own wealth, Dad insisted the Northams would not rule the town, just try to lead it with the Lord's help. Rand didn't know Means well at all, but he'd keep an eye on him.

“No, thanks. I can speak from here.” The banker, around twenty-four years old and impeccably dressed in his black suit and white linen shirt, glanced around the group. “As you all may know, the new bank is my first to manage under my uncle's backing.”

Rand found it interesting that the man seemed surprised by his own statement, much as he himself had been surprised by Dad's faith in him.

“Of course, I want to make it a success,” Means went on. “Which keeps me on my knees.” He chuckled and the other men joined in. “I know Esperanza is a fine town, but I'm concerned about outsiders, especially those riding through on their way to the silver fields. Not that I expect a robbery, but it's always a possibility.”

When several men murmured their surprise, he hurried on. “I believe it's time our town hired a sheriff, someone full-time to watch out for our interests.”

“Not a bad idea,” Edgar Jones, the barber, said. “Mrs. Winsted next door to me tells me she's been missing small things from the general store. Mostly candy, so it's probably mischievous boys, but other items, too, that can slip easily into a pocket. The presence of a lawman in town would discourage such shenanigans.”

Again the other men murmured their concerns.

“I think Mr. Hardison might be a possible candidate,” Means continued. “I spoke to him after church, and he told me he has had a long history with the law.”

Rand almost choked over Hardison's wily words. Until this moment he'd been willing to listen to Means, but this was going too far. He opened his mouth to tell these fine men exactly what Dathan Hardison was up to. Even cool, calm Nate frowned and moved forward on the pew as if he were about to stand in protest.

“Hold on.” Reverend Thomas stood beside Rand. “Let's not load so much on a new convert. Let me disciple him for a while.” The look in his eyes told Rand he had a deeper meaning behind his words.

Means started to voice his protest when old Charlie Williams stood next to him, his mountain-man hackles raised like a grizzly bear's.

“The Colonel said he'll hire a sheriff when he comes back. We'll wait for him on this.” While the other men talked all at once, Charlie gave Rand a curt nod, as if to say, “Don't lose control, boy.”

Suppressing a grin, Rand raised his hands over the hubbub. “All right, all right.” When he had their attention, he said, “Charlie's right. We'll wait for the Colonel, but in the meantime, I'll write to him about our concerns. Will that be enough for you all?”

That promise seemed to settle everyone down. “All right. If there's nothing else, this meeting is adjourned.”

Nolan Means didn't exactly look pleased, but his expression held no anger. If he really had concerns about a bank robbery, they most certainly would have to address the matter.

After the other men left the church, the preacher released a long sigh. “We dodged that bullet, didn't we?”

“What?” Rand and Nate chorused together.

The preacher chuckled. “Friends, I don't consider myself as wise as Solomon, but I do know a real conversion when I see one. Unfortunately, Hardison will have to go a long way to prove he's redeemed before I believe him.” His eyes exuded a pastoral sadness that spoke well of his character.

Rand and Nate exchanged a look.

“Is it time to tell him the whole story?” Rand asked his brother.

“Be my guest,” said Nate.

As Rand unfolded the tale of Hardison's threats to Reverend Thomas, the weight of fear he'd felt on his chest for the past three days seemed to lift a few notches. But he couldn't help thinking Hardison had a hidden agenda that included more than just revenge for his cousin's death. Why didn't he just confront Rand for a shoot-out? Why was he trying to inveigle his way into the close-knit community of Esperanza?

Chapter Six

“I
'll answer the door.” Marybeth removed her apron and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“Thank you, dear.” Fork in hand, Mrs. Foster turned a chicken leg in the frying pan and brushed a sleeve over her damp forehead. “This will be done in just a few minutes, so have the preacher take a seat in the parlor.”

Anticipating a pleasant dinner with Reverend Thomas, Marybeth made a quick trip through the dining room to be sure the table was still properly set. Last evening she and Mrs. Foster had polished the silver and set it out with the gleaming rose-patterned china. Crystal goblets awaited tea now stored in the icebox—iced tea for a Southern gentleman—and white linen napkins lay beside the plates on the white damask tablecloth.

Pleased to see her landlady's cat had not gotten on the table and disturbed the settings, Marybeth hastened to the front door. Through the oval etched-glass window, she saw the preacher was not alone. Rand! Her heart skipped and her hand trembled as she opened the door.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Please come in.” She stood aside to let them in.
Oh, bother.
Her voice was shaking, but due to which of these men? Until this moment she'd been too busy helping Mrs. Foster to be nervous. Of course she'd felt a little concerned about the preacher because he might ask too many questions about her wedding plans...or lack thereof. But Rand's appearance also made her a bit nervous. Why had he come?

Both gentlemen greeted her as they removed their hats and stepped over the threshold. The preacher hung his hat on the walnut hall tree beside the door, but Rand stood just inside.

“I can't stay,” he said in answer to her questioning look. “I just wanted to be sure you and Mrs. Foster got home all right.” She could see the relief in his eyes, but for what?

“Of course we did.” She glanced at the preacher. “It's just a short walk. What could happen in three blocks in this lovely, peaceful town?”

The men traded a look, which both irritated her and made her feel good. She dismissed the irritation born of her desire, her
need
for independence. Rand's obvious relief over her safety touched her. Once again, she could see he wanted to take care of her, an admirable quality she could not disregard. Even as she thought it, she also remembered all those cozy feelings could be a trap from which she would never escape.

“Probably not much would happen on a Sunday.” Rand turned his hat in his hand. “I guess I just wanted to see you again. I won't be able to visit you until late tomorrow morning. Ranch chores, you know.” He gazed down at her with those gentle green eyes, and her pulse stuttered.

“Oh.” She glanced at Reverend Thomas, whose benign expression showed interest without being intrusive. It also convicted her. Should she tell Rand about her appointment at the bank? Her mouth took over before her mind decided. “I may not be here.”

He blinked. And frowned. “Where will you be?” The crossness in his voice reminded her that his moods changed quickly. Too quickly, and for no apparent reason.

“Why, I... I—” She shouldn't lie.
Must
not lie. “I have an appointment with Mr. Means at the bank. A job interview.” She ended breathlessly so he wouldn't bark out another question.

But now his expression changed from cross to worried. He traded another look with the preacher before gazing at her again. “What time is your appointment?”

“Nine o'clock.”

“Maybe I'll ride into town about then and walk you over to the bank.”

“I could walk her over for you, Rand,” Reverend Thomas said. “That way you could complete your chores without worry.”

Marybeth felt the urge to stamp her feet like one of her spoiled classmates often did back at the academy. Growing up, she'd never had the luxury of expressing her feelings so strongly. “What's the matter with you two? I can walk to the bank by myself.”

Maddeningly, they traded another one of those paternalistic looks. Finally the preacher said, “She'll be fine. I'll make sure.”

“All right. If you insist.” Rand placed his hat on his head. “I'll come by the bank and walk you home.” He turned toward the door and then back to her. “I should say ‘may I come by to walk you home?'”

The annoyance in his tone and expression struck Marybeth's funny bone, and she couldn't stifle a laugh. “You won't know what time.”

He raised his fists to his waist. “Then I'll just sit outside the bank until you come out.”

The preacher laughed. “I think he has you there, Marybeth. Why not let him escort you home?”

She cast him a saucy grin she hoped didn't seem irreverent. “Oh, very well. I suppose I'll be finished with the interview by ten o'clock. Or ten minutes after nine, if it doesn't go well.”
Lord, please let it go well.

“Good. I'll be waiting outside the bank at ten minutes after nine.” Rand frowned. “I don't mean to say I hope it doesn't go well. Actually, I do hope it doesn't—”

“Quit while you're ahead, Rand.” The preacher chuckled.

“Good idea.” Rand gazed at Marybeth for another long moment. Then he spun on his heel and marched out the door and down the steps.

Good manners demanded that she turn her attention to Reverend Thomas, but she would much rather watch Rand ride away. Gracious, he was a good-looking man. A determined, capable man. She had no doubt whatsoever that he could accomplish anything he set his mind to.

Which stirred up no little concern inside her. While those were good qualities when it came to his finding Jimmy, she wasn't so sure she wanted them turned her way if he decided he was going to marry her.

* * *

“I could not be more pleased with your skill, Miss O'Brien.” Mr. Means stood beside Marybeth's chair and bent over her shoulder watching her progress as she copied a handwritten letter using the Remington Sholes and Glidden typewriting machine. “I cannot see a single error in your transcription.”

“Thank you, sir.” She smothered a wide smile that might reveal how violently her heart had skipped at his compliment. She felt not the slightest attraction to the man, but his easy manner suggested he would be a pleasant employer for whom to work. “Would you like to try dictation?” Her fingers itched for the challenge.

“Hmm.” He stared off as though considering the matter. “No, better not. You see on this page—” he held up the handwritten letter she'd just copied “—how many times I scratched out my words when better ones came to mind. No need to waste paper.” He reached out as though to pat her shoulder but then seemed to think better of it. “I will be delighted to sign and send this letter to my uncle in New York. He went to a great deal of trouble to acquire and send this machine for the bank, so it will give him great satisfaction to finally receive a letter written on it.”

“Very good, sir.” Marybeth rolled the bar to release the sheet and handed the letter to him.

“Will you be able to start work right away?” He studied the typed page with interest as he spoke.

“Today?” She could hear the giddy squeak in her voice, but he had the good manners not to laugh.

“If you can. I have several letters I would like to send out with today's three o'clock post.”

Once again her heart skipped. Rand's letters asking the two sheriffs about Jimmy would go out this afternoon, too. How long would it take them to reach their destinations and answers be returned? If she didn't keep busy, she'd find herself fretting over the situation.

“I'd be happy to start today.” She ran her hand over the corner of the polished oak desk where she would be assuming her duties. Nearby stood a dark walnut hat rack that held her hat, gloves and reticule. It also could serve as an umbrella stand, but Mrs. Foster told her the San Luis Valley had very little rainfall. Coming from Boston, Marybeth found that quite remarkable.

“Good. I'll write those letters and bring them to you. In the meantime, would you go over to the café and fetch me a pot of coffee?”

He was still looking down at the letter, so could not have seen her shock. She quickly schooled her face back to a pleasant, professional smile.

So it was true, what she'd learned in her secretarial training. Ladies who worked as secretaries must also serve coffee and tea and whatever other refreshments their bosses required. Never mind their advanced training, they were still just maids with extra skills.

“Of course, Mr. Means. Would you care for cream and sugar?”

He glanced up at her, not seeming really to see her. “Yes, please. And perhaps one of Miss Pam's pastries. She knows the ones I like.”

“Very good, sir.” Marybeth put on her hat and gloves before proceeding out the front door of the stone bank. She carried her reticule, although it held no money. Surely, Mr. Means didn't expect her to pay for the coffee and pastries. She would tell Miss Pam to put the cost on the banker's account.

“It's about time.” Rand leaned against the bank's hitching post, arms crossed and hat low over his eyes. “It's almost eleven o'clock. What were you doing in there?”

“Rand.” She gasped softly. She'd forgotten all about his offer to walk her home. But his cross tone of voice cut short her regret. “Well, if you must know, Mr. Northam, I've just been hired to work at the bank. I start today.”

“Is that so?” He pushed his hat back to reveal those appealing green eyes filled with disappointment and a dash of annoyance. Marybeth steadied her swaying emotions. She would not let him change her course.

“Yes, it is.” She tugged at her gloves and stepped off of the boardwalk into the dusty street. Which only served to remind her of how tall and well formed he was. She huffed out a cross breath over her own ambivalence. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an errand to run.”

He gave her a mischievous grin. “Ah, I see. You're the new errand boy. What happened to the typewriting job?”

She could feel her temper rising, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it. “Why, you're entirely mistaken. Mr. Means is delighted with my typewriting skills. While he writes some letters for me to transcribe, I'm fetching us a pot of coffee and some pastries.”

As she walked away from him, guilt smote her. Mr. Means hadn't said anything about coffee for
her
. She'd often told half-truths to Da to keep from getting hit, yet Rand hadn't done anything to deserve such treatment. Nor did she think the Lord approved of such deceptions. Before she could turn around and tell Rand the truth, he fell into step beside her.

“I might just have one of those pastries myself.” To her chagrin, he offered her his arm. “Nobody makes them like Miss Pam, but don't tell Mrs. Foster I said that.”

She couldn't very well let him walk along beside her with one arm bent and sticking out, so she set her hand on it. Mercy, he had powerful muscles. “You know, Mr. Northam, I've looked up and down this street and I can't see any reason why I need your protection as I walk around town.”

“Maybe not.” He gave her that devastating smile. “But I just want to make certain everybody knows you're taken.”

She stopped in the middle of the street and glared up at him. “I most certainly am not
taken
.” Staring up that way, she felt her hat slipping off the back of her head and reached up to catch it, bringing a low chuckle from Rand. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to complete my errand and get back to work.” She started to march off in a huff when he gently gripped her upper arm and turned her back.

“Do you mind?” She wanted to struggle against his hold, but that would make a scene to shame them both.

“Now that you mention it, I do mind.” He tipped his hat back again. “Marybeth, you don't need to do this. You don't need to work at a job while we're searching for your brother.”

The pain in his eyes cut into her, yet not so deeply as to change her mind. “But I want to, Rand. I want to earn my own livelihood, not be supported by you. How would that look if we end up not getting married?”

He winced visibly, stared off and then slowly returned a sad gaze to her. “All right. But I'm going to walk you home every day. And the preacher is going to be watching out for you when you walk to work in the morning.”

Something in his voice held a warning she could not easily dismiss. “Why? What are you not telling me?”

Again he stared off, but this time he seemed to study the numerous people going about their business on the street. “I don't want to worry you, but you have a right to know. There are always unsavory elements passing through Esperanza on their way to the silver mines. Not all prospectors are dangerous, but some like to prey on the unsuspecting. Some transients get their prospecting stake by robbing good people as they travel west. They cause havoc and then disappear before anyone can call them to account for it or even know who they are.”

“Oh.” Marybeth knew well which parts of Boston held that same danger. She'd lived in a poor, rough neighborhood but had known of rougher areas closer to the waterfront. “Very well. I accept your offer to escort me home each day.” She started to turn away but instead set a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Rand.”

Relief blossomed across his tanned face and that charming smile appeared again like sunshine. “Now, let's get Mr. Means his coffee before he fires you.”

His teasing tone lightened her mood considerably. “Humph. You didn't see how pleased he was with my typewriting. Why, I'm going to be indispensable to him. You just wait and see, Mr. Rand Northam.”

His chuckle held a hint of ruefulness. “I don't doubt that for one second, Miss O'Brien, and that's what worries me.”

* * *

Rand might have continued to argue with Marybeth about her job if he hadn't noticed the pride and self-respect just being hired had already given her. He didn't understand why any lady would want to earn her own living when she could get married and have a husband to provide for her. Yet something in Marybeth's past must have left a hole in her heart that needed to be filled up. She'd made it clear he wouldn't be able to do that, which stung a little. A lot, actually.